


Nights Spent At the Castle

by orphan_account



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Sandman
Genre: Challenge Response, Crossover, Dreams, Ficlet, First Time, M/M, Male Protagonist, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Porn Battle, Slash, Werewolf, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-02
Updated: 2009-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-02 20:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the Initiative, Oz had been dreaming of the Castle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nights Spent At the Castle

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Oxoniensis' Porn Battle #7.

Ever since the Initiative, Oz had been dreaming of the Castle.

Sometimes, when he was awake, he thought it must be a metaphor for society or life – wandering the hallways was like trying to find his way to... whatever - the perfect sound, success, a way to stop being half a monster. Still, when he sat shivering and naked in the cellar, the dream still alive and vibrant in him, he knew the Castle was larger than his petty concerns or his tiny life. The Castle was not inside his head; his head was inside the Castle.

It would hurt, and he'd growl and weep and scratch at the door, until he remembered himself.

He began to dream of lurking around a great hall in the Castle, dodging dream-things with wings on their wrists and wheels on their feet. His steps would echo mutely along the immense length of the hall. There were no chairs and the floor was icy cold. He kept walking. The hall was full of a presence, of a white-faced king with eyes as black as the night.

He'd wake up horny and feral, the fur just inside his skin tickling to get out.

He started to get stoned just before going to sleep. It didn't help. The dreams just began even before he closed his eyes.

One day he had parked his car on the side of a highway, half-hidden from patrols by weedy bushes and trees clinging to dry Kansas soil. It had been a month since rain. He crawled into a ball on the backseat and pulled a blanket over himself, the Castle already looming large in his mind. He could see it through his exhaustion, the glittering black marble, the walls that disappeared into the darkness above.

The King was looking straight at him, his eyes twin stars in bottomless black pools.

Oz's mouth curved in a smile. _I must be mad._

'What do you want, dreamer?' asked the King, mild, curious.

'Warmth,' said Oz. 'Food. Sex.'

'How primitive,' said the King, and though Oz hated the word, he couldn't argue. He held out his hands.

'Please.'

'Very well.'

The hall melted into a bedroom, small, close, with a fire burning in a fireplace and a bed that looked so soft and enveloping that it only could exist in a dream, or maybe Willow's bedroom. There was a table set with delicacies by the fire, and raw meat, and Oz fell on it, eating and eating until his belly was full and his bones warmed by the fire. The King sat by him and watched him with his black eyes.

After he had finished, the King reached for him.

Oz fell into the bed and found it was as soft as it looked. He was ready for his third wish.

He'd only been with two men in his life, but he wanted the King now as badly as he'd ever wanted anyone, as badly as he wanted a resolution to his life. He wanted his touch, his cool fingertips on his pulse, and his cock snug inside him, rubbing him raw; wanted his cum inside him, a fucking true and deep, to bring them to whatever perfection of bliss he was still capable of.

He was obliged.

Afterwards, he touched the King's face next to his on the pillow. His eyes closed, he looked more human, younger. 'Is it lonely?' he asked, looking for something of himself in him, something that might have moved the King to compassion.

The King's eyes opened, but he looked up at the ceiling, not at Oz. 'Go home,' he said.

Oz woke up cold and shivering at the back of the car, his ears drumming with the pitter-patter sound of rain.


End file.
